


you put a lion on a leash

by shoutz



Series: snow, as she falls [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Anal Sex, Cock Warming, Exhibitionism, F/M, Face-Sitting, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Fluff and Smut, Light Bondage, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Polyamory, Threesome - F/M/M, no beta we die like men, very small amounts of plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:28:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22260328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoutz/pseuds/shoutz
Summary: In one another, they find respite.“I brought you two a gift. Something to…remind you of me, I suppose.” The silk ribbon flows from her hand like water, a deep navy to match her dress and his garb and their home. She takes Aymeric's hand and begins wrapping the ribbon around a wrist, tying it off and tucking the ends out of sight.“As if we could ever forget you,” Estinien comments, low, barely loud enough for the two of them to hear, and certainly not loud enough to reach the ears of anyone else.She procures another ribbon and approaches Estinien instead, reaching out for one of his hands. He offers it without hesitation. “Then think of it as a marker. To make you mine, for all of Eorzea to see.”She ties an identical ribbon to his wrist as Aymeric stands, watching her delicate hands work. “Subtle.”
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel/Estinien Wyrmblood, Aymeric de Borel/Warrior of Light, Aymeric de Borel/Warrior of Light/Estinien Wyrmblood, Warrior of Light/Estinien Wyrmblood
Series: snow, as she falls [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1572478
Comments: 18
Kudos: 131





	you put a lion on a leash

**Author's Note:**

> Mild spoilers through early Stormblood! Title from [Esmeralda — Burn the Ballroom](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g60YLwpu9LY). We're back for round 2 and this time it's almost got a plot

Aymeric has never before been so relieved to hear the creak of his office door as it opens.

The Warrior of Light strides into the room, purposeful steps echoing with clicks on the stone floor. They hesitate for the span of a breath, just one, before they start again, bringing her the rest of the way into the room. Aymeric is all too glad to look up from the drab paperwork on his desk, addressing her properly.

“Ah, my dearest, how good it is to see you. And just in time for the Alliance banquet. How fares the Ala Mhigan conflict?”

She sighs. “Liberation is a hard task, my lord, you know this well as any. But it will be done.” She pauses, and her expression melts into a smile. “Yours is a sight for the sorest of eyes.”

Estinien, who has been still as stone upon Aymeric’s lap to this point, lets a small noise escape as he hears the voice of his lover.

Unclothed, he sits clutching Aymeric’s comparably clothed torso, head buried into the crook of his neck. Some of the scars on his bare back seem fresh, and considering his six-month absence, it is too easy to guess what might have caused them. Bandages still cover one at his side, a gash along his rib cage. But the Warrior of Light's relief at seeing him hale and whole is incomparable.

Hale, whole, and seated squarely upon Aymeric’s length. She must wonder how long he has been in that position, drinking in the warmth and fullness of one of his lovers and waiting with bated breath for the other to return. Aymeric aches to tell her, to pull her closer and kiss her with all the immense longing accrued over the past few months, but the weight and warmth upon his cock serve well to keep him grounded.

“When did you arrive? I do hope you spent your journey untroubled,” Aymeric asks, casual, voice low and easy in a way he hopes rumbles through Estinien’s chest. One hand comes up and skims along Estinien’s back, a soothing gesture. The muscles in his back tense and flex as he huddles closer, burying his noises into Aymeric’s skin.

“Not long ago, though my journey was made longer by Emmanellain’s insistence on tea and a chat when I passed through Camp Dragonhead.”

Aymeric chuckles. “He and Honoroit can be quite insistent. I’m proud of him for taking up that responsibility once the war ended.”

“How fares Eorzea? It has been some time since we’ve had word from the rest of the Alliance outside of Raubahn,” she asks, approaching the desk with cautious steps.

“Largely unchanged, though it seems wont to dump far more paperwork on my desk than it did before.”

She laughs, a warm sound that fills the room around them. “I don’t doubt it. Be grateful it is _only_ paperwork, my lord, and not an entire war.”

Estinien squirms, hips moving ever slightly, chasing even the faintest bit of friction. She takes the opportunity to close the distance, approaching the two and holding Estinien’s waist firmly in place. It’s a denial that sets Aymeric’s blood boiling. A startled noise slips from Estinien’s lungs, a formless whimper. He jolts at the contact, surprised and no doubt overstimulated, craving any amount of contact or movement to satisfy his desires.

“Be patient, my love, there is work to be done,” she whispers into his shoulder, a ghost of breath that has his hair standing on end. Her familiarity with Estinien’s wants and tells never ceases to amaze Aymeric, even so far into their relationship. At first he thought she was wont to ignore his needs, but had quickly learned that she knows them with such intimacy that she understands that the obvious course of action is not what would satisfy him. He needs the comfort of familiarity, human warmth and easy touches to coax him back to himself by ilms.

Six long, arduous months had seen Estinien away on mysterious business, with scant more than occasional updates through Lucia to keep Aymeric informed of his well being. After leaving without so much as a word following his struggle against Nidhogg, coupled with the Warrior of Light's ceaseless and muddled dealings in Gyr Abania, had left Aymeric lonely and constantly worried about his lovers despite how capable he knows them both to be. Sitting in his office shuffling through paperwork and allocating forces had done little and less to ease his mind.

So when Estinien had shown up, beaten and ragged and touch-starved, Aymeric had been more than willing to indulge his lover’s insistence on being as close as possible. He of course had wanted to ask after his health, to let flow the anxieties and frustrations at Estinien's abrupt departure, but first and foremost he needed careful hands and quiet whispers to soothe and to mend. Aymeric's worries could wait. It had been but too easy to order Lucia to keep visitors at bay for the rest of the evening, all but the one whom he could not deny even if he tried.

It is a level of vulnerability to which only they are privy. Though Estinien and the Warrior of Light had been loathe to label their relationship as more than _close friends_ before Aymeric came along, they were intimate in ways that transcended their physical desires, ways that made Aymeric ever grateful for being blessed with their affections as well. Though he falls behind in the more subtle romantic affections, without so much experience with them as they have with each other, they are nothing but accepting and patient.

Estinien whines again, sucking a wet bruise into the junction of Aymeric’s neck. His breath hitches in response and it takes a monumental amount of control to keep his own hips still, to not thrust up into the heat and take his own pleasure.

Her fingertips rub circles into Estinien’s hip bones, locking her burning eyes with Aymeric’s over his shoulder.

“The banquet is tonight, you say? Hopefully there lay something in my wardrobe that will suffice,” she says, voice revealing none of the want that is so apparent in her eyes and body language.

“Yes, though I am sure even in rags or smallclothes you could outshine them all by malms.” She opens her mouth to protest the praise, but Aymeric continues, _“_ _And_ Estinien has promised his presence as well, that we may not face this perilous task alone.”

She smiles, pressing a delicate kiss against Estinien’s neck. “How kind of him. Perhaps he might grace us with a _dance_ on top of that, though I know better than to hope for so much.”

Estinien’s head moves, just slightly, a small nod. And Aymeric will never tire of the smile with which she graces him in response, as if with that simple answer Estinien has brought her greatest dreams into fruition.

She locks eyes with Aymeric and nods, once, his cue to begin moving. Simultaneously, she lifts his hips, bearing his full weight; though he’s hesitant to lift his head from Aymeric’s shoulder, Estinien braces hands on his chest and his feet on the floor as he starts to move in earnest. She lowers him slowly back onto Aymeric’s cock, and the two of them moan in tandem, startled by the friction and stimulation after having remained still for so long.

“Do be gentle, my lord, he is still quite sensitive,” she murmurs, keeping Estinien’s hips at a steady, languid pace, one that has Aymeric hungry for more.

Estinien preens the Warrior of Light's name, a sound so saccharine to Aymeric’s ears, the first coherent word uttered from his lips since she walked in. She shushes him, pressing flush against his back as careful, strong hands guide him into a painstaking rhythm.

It takes a few moments, but autonomy returns to Estinien’s limbs in fits and starts. The hands on his hips become more comfort than guidance, the assurance of strength as a promise lying wait against sensitive burning skin. He lifts his head slightly and Aymeric captures his lips in a kiss, finally taking pleasure for himself as he relishes the taste.

Her hands shift from Estinien’s hips to wrap around his cock between them, flushed and hard despite being largely ignored until now, and Aymeric takes that as his cue. Estinien gasps — _oh, gods_ — and Aymeric grips his hips in her stead, using the new leverage to thrust deeper, _deeper_ , finally with the unspoken permission to take what he wants.

It doesn’t take much; Estinien groans through his release, a sound that Aymeric swallows hungrily even as he hopes for more. The Warrior of Light covers Aymeric’s hands with her own delicate touch, pressing in, encouraging him to relinquish control, to _take._ Estinien’s hands eventually find their home at Aymeric’s jawline, pulling him further into the kiss in a near possessive fervor, and it is his undoing. He reaches a climax that consumes him like a wave, rolling and greedy and just this side of too much.

The two of them come down gasping, soothed by the murmured praises of their lover as she coaxes them back. Aymeric looks into Estinien’s eyes and finds none of the desperation from before, none of the starved beast which had him in a chokehold upon his arrival. Instead he finds the ravenous hunger sated, though not for lack of wanting; the heat remains, the desire. Something so close to love to be nearly identical.

Though he is loathe to admit such weakness, Estinien’s eyes can never quite conceal their true intent.

Reluctantly, they part from each other’s embrace, and Aymeric does his best to tidy his uniform as he tucks himself away. The Warrior of Light takes the cloak from her shoulders and wraps it around Estinien’s instead, eyeing the discarded bits of armor scattered throughout the office. “Let’s get you into a warm bath, before the cold sets in,” she says, guiding him off Aymeric’s lap and onto his own two shaky feet.

“But we would be remiss to ignore you,” he protests with a voice rough from disuse. Aymeric opens his mouth to concur, to insist, but she waves them off.

“You may be the great Estinien Wyrmblood, but you yet remain human. Mostly,” she says with fondness in her voice and eyes as she grins. She pulls the cloak tighter around Estinien’s shoulders, which are almost too broad for the fabric compared to her lithe frame. “And besides, we have a banquet for which we must prepare, and I mean to enjoy you two to the fullest extent. As much as I would love to ravish you both now, it would not bode well for us to miss such an auspicious event.” Her grin hones its edge, sharp as it conveys its desire to the two of them. “And besides, what would they think? What would they say? _Ishgard’s heroes would rather be fucked senseless by the Warrior of Light than attend their own banquet._ How utterly inhospitable.”

She has the right of it, of course; they would all do well with a bit of freshening up, and they can’t properly indulge in one another using the scant moments between.

So, reluctantly, they part with a promise to convene again before the event begins in earnest. Aymeric spends most of that time in the bath trying (and failing) to keep his thoughts from drifting to Estinien, to the Warrior of Light, to whatever may be in store for their future. After so long away from the both of them, with nothing to distract him from the longing or the ache, having them both so close is intoxicating. His skin buzzes with the idea of more, of something which he can anticipate after the event.

But he stows the nervous, yearning energy to instead prepare for the night ahead.

* * *

The Warrior of Light is the last to arrive at their designated meeting place, but she makes quite an entrance. Dressed in a simple deep blue dress, high neckline and flowing gray cloak with gold embossments around the waist and neck, the figure she cuts stuns her lovers as they watch her approach.

They stare for a few moments too long. She fidgets in place, adjusting the waist and cloak, suddenly self-conscious. “I’m— I apologize, the Ishgard blue may have been too much, I just—”

“Nonsense, my dear,” Aymeric is the first to find words, a gentle smile on his face as he studies her. “You look incredible. It seems I was right about you outshining them all.”

Aymeric himself is dressed as befits his station: incredibly well. Most of the metal adornments of his usual armor are shed in favor of a dark blue cloak, so deep in color as to almost be black. His usual high collar teases the edges of his wavy hair, shaped perfectly into place to frame his delicate features. A sight that makes the Warrior of Light’s heart race just as much as when she first saw it.

Estinien, on the other hand, can’t seem to meet her gaze now that she’s closer. The tips of his ears burn a bright pink as he fiddles with the cuff of his shirt. He isn’t completely dressed up, not to the same standard as someone like Ser Aymeric, but it’s not his armor, and for that much the Warrior of Light finds herself grateful. A dark blue cravat peeks out from his collar, that of a black dress shirt that struggles to stay together with the width of his shoulders and chest. He, too, is dashing, though less confident in it. A demeanor she’ll change in due time.

Aymeric reaches out and takes her hand, before kneeling and placing a gentle kiss on her knuckles. A hot flush creeps up her cheeks and she looks away from his bright blue eyes to Estinien, whose similarly hungry eyes seem to have found their mark at last.

Perfect.

Aymeric moves to stand but the Warrior of Light closes the distance between them, standing closer and bringing a small object out of a pouch.

“I brought you two a gift,” she says with a slight grin. “Something to…remind you of me, I suppose.” The silk ribbon flows from her hand like water, a deep navy to match her dress and his garb and their home. She takes his hand and begins wrapping the ribbon around a wrist, tying it off and tucking the ends out of sight.

“As if we could ever forget you,” Estinien comments, low, barely loud enough for the two of them to hear, and certainly not loud enough to reach the ears of anyone else.

She procures another ribbon and approaches Estinien instead, reaching out for one of his hands. He offers it without hesitation. “Then think of it as a marker. To make you mine, for all of Eorzea to see.”

She ties an identical ribbon to his wrist as Aymeric stands, watching her delicate hands work. “Subtle.”

She grins, tucking the ends of the ribbon away, “I pondered collaring you with them, but that would be a little…much. Maybe next time.” With that, she turns on her heel and joins the flow of nobles and officials making their way to The Pillars. The matching blue ribbon tied in a bow onto the end of the braid holding back half of her hair trails behind her, and brings a fond smile to both her lovers’ faces. Helpless, they follow.

Ishgard, with its grand halls and architecture, had been chosen as the venue for such an event partially to celebrate its addition to the Alliance, but more so to make ample use of its space and hospitality. Though it tends much colder than is comfortable for most in the Alliance, they are quite eager to shirk the responsibility of hosting such an event onto another. The ballroom fills to the brim as the light of the sun begins to dim, with both powerful people and those vying for their attention and a higher station if they can manage. Eorzeans from all walks of life convene, engaging in discussion over drinks, dressed to impress without the slightest expense spared.

The Warrior of Light pauses in the entryway, balking at the sheer number of attendees. Estinien does the same, scowling, and Aymeric walks between them to lay a steadying hand on either of their shoulders.

“It shall be over before you know it.” He gets closer to her ear, voice low and rumbling, “And afterwards, we can continue what we started.”

She opens her mouth to respond but the thought cuts itself short when Admiral Merlwyb calls her name. Eventually she is whisked away to catch up with the other Alliance leaders who were able to make the journey, Sultana Nanamo and the Elder Seedseer Kan-E-Senna, leaving her lovers to navigate the banquet for themselves.

She spends the majority of the night tugged this way and that by various officials vying for the attention of the vaunted Warrior of Light. The few glimpses she catches of Aymeric show him conversing idly with others, introducing himself properly to many of the leaders from across Eorzea. He is never far from sight, and she finds her eyes meeting his quite often through the throngs of people. She sees him gesticulate with the hand bearing her ribbon and smiles, warm with the knowledge of what it means.

Meanwhile, Estinien sticks to the walls, as far out of the way as he can manage while staying within sight of the Warrior of Light. Not many approach him, and his conversations with the few who do try are curt at best. All save for Aymeric, who approaches him with hushed tones after watching Warrior of Light flit between conversations and dances and hors d’oeuvres.

Exhaustion lowers the line of her shoulders and her responses grow less animated and emphatic as the night continues. Music had begun floating through the hall perhaps half an hour ago, and various couples spin each other around an open floor while those idle make space for them along the flanks of the room. She had been spirited to the dance floor a handful of times but never for long, and when she did, Aymeric and Estinien had kept careful eyes on her.

Careful, and…just a touch jealous.

About an hour into the festivities, the Alliance leaders call for attention with a toast. They are treated to speeches from all of them: impassioned from the Sultana, heartfelt from the Elder Seedseer, and… _rousing_ from the Admiral, already several glasses deep into the night. They all thank both Ser Aymeric for his and Ishgard’s hospitality, and the Warrior of Light for her endless service to Eorzea. She blushes and waves off the praise, as ever, and Aymeric and Estinien look on fondly.

Once they finish, the music and chatter starts up again. The Warrior of Light is bidding another dignitary farewell when Aymeric approaches, easy smile, hand outstretched in her direction.

“Might I steal you away for a dance?”

Some of the tension melts from her shoulders, and she flashes him her first genuine smile in the span of the evening. She takes his hand and dips into a gentle curtsey, playful. “For you, Ser Aymeric, it is not necessary to steal.”

She leaves the rest unsaid — _I am already yours_ — with the knowledge that he hears it implied in her tone. He escorts her out to the floor and with a hand at her waist and the other holding her own, he leads her across the floor with ease. He holds her closer than the others had, more intimate, sharing breaths and heartbeats as they dance.

“Once again, yours is a sight for the sorest of eyes,” she murmurs, gazing up at him with no small amount of fondness. “If one more official asks when I’ll return from Ala Mhigo and help them with their errands, I am like to combust.”

“I am happy to offer some reprieve, for the little time available to us,” Aymeric responds, pivoting around another couple and keeping her held close to his chest. “I daresay you have caught the eyes of anyone and everyone in attendance, both for your title and your stunning appearance.”

She blushes, smacks noncommittally where her hand rests at his shoulder. “Oh, stop. You know full well that I vy for only two sets of eyes. That they appreciate my appearance is all I will ever need.”

“Like I said, my dear: rags and smallclothes.”

She laughs, a light noise that brings heat to Aymeric’s cheeks. “Would that I could get away with becoming a wallflower like Estinien. I find myself weary of polite, vapid conversation. These officials drone _endlessly_.”

“Well then, allow me to distract you for the time being with _less_ polite conversation.” He drops to a low murmur, steering the two of them around other couples to maintain some semblance of privacy. “We do still owe you a debt, from before, and as much as I’d love to surprise you with something of our own imagination… What would _you_ prefer?” A blush creeps up her neckline, and she finds it hard to hold his simmering gaze. “Nothing that would be appropriate to disclose amidst current company, _my lord,_ I assure you.” His lip juts out in a pout. She tries not to fall victim to it, and fails. “Just know that merely being in the same room with you and Estinien brings me an eon’s worth of joy.”

“Well, know that we feel the same for you. Nothing brings us more felicity and relief than seeing you return to us.” Her smile turns sad and her eyes leave his for the first time since they started dancing. Aymeric can see the thoughts churning beneath the surface, what-ifs amidst pessimism which tell her that one day she may not return. He’s quick to amend, _“And_ should you find yourself unable to return to us, we shall fetch you ourselves. You will not be rid of us so easily, my dear, this I do swear to you.”

She blinks away the sadness in favor of something closer to love, closer to admiration for the man who holds her close as they dance. She opens her mouth to say something but the music slows to a halt, signalling their dance to be over. Aymeric steps back, one hand still held in his own, and bends to kiss it gently as he had before. Here, amidst such a crowd, heat finds the tips of her ears and her cheeks much faster than it had before at such a display.

“I thank you for your precious time, my lady. I cherish every second.” She smiles and tries to will the color from her cheeks, unsuccessfully. “Would that I could dance with you until the night turns to morning and night again. Though I do believe you are owed a dance from another…”

As if on cue, the Warrior of Light feels a presence at her back, strong and comforting in ways beyond measure.

“Let us be about it, then. I would quit this place at our earliest opportunity,” Estinien grumbles, taking her hand from Aymeric and pulling her closer. The slight smile cresting his lips is enough reassurance for her to know he doesn’t object to such ostentatiousness, not truly. He may act the part well, but the eagerness with which he holds her and the light in his eyes do much to betray his dour demeanor. He lacks most of Aymeric’s elegance but his feet move with a sureness that she can’t help but follow.

Another song follows on the heels of the last, and Estinien spirits his prize across the dancefloor for all to see. They move faster this time despite the similar tempo of song, seemingly having to do with Estinien’s own nervous energy, energy which she shares despite herself. Her hand rests at his shoulder and she smooths her fingers over the sleeve, knowing with intimacy the old, faded scar that lay beneath. It’s as much a comfort for her as for him.

“Have you heard any particularly interesting gossip? My dearest fly on the wall,” she says, grinning up at him. He smiles back, and his expression is warm though it would look cold to anyone who doesn’t know him as well as she.

“Naught but that the Sultana misses the Flame General Raubahn dearly. She does quite enjoy having a perch by which to tower over the masses.” He shrugs, spinning her past another noble she had been dancing with earlier in the night, who seems to eye them with curiosity. And rightfully so, though who better to share a dance with the Azure Dragoon than the Warrior of Light herself? “I would have offered my own shoulder, but she would need to be wary of the spikes.”

It startles a laugh from her, one that stands out amidst the conversation and song floating in the vast room. “Oh please, you’re not even in your armor! She would have nothing to fear. Though they might serve as something to which she can hold on while you leap from rooftop to rooftop.”

This time it’s her turn to startle a laugh from him, one that makes his steps stumble and their dance fall out of rhythm. They care little and less. Their steps are quick to right themselves and in no time they’re back to normal alongside the other couples, though she would give the world and all its splendor to let go and enjoy each other, blunders and all.

“My apologies,” he says, still chuckling, still unable to school his expression into its usual cool impassivity. “How improper of me to make you look anything less than the picture of grace and poise here amidst such important company.”

“Nonsense,” she says, “And none better with whom to make a fool of myself than you, darling.”

Estinien scoffs, tightening his grip at her hip. “Estinien Wyrmblood, former Azure Dragoon, bearer of both eyes of Nidhogg, brought low by a mere dance… To think I’d fall lower than I already have.”

She smacks his shoulder, not unlike she had done to Aymeric but for different reasons. Estinien winces, still sore from his injuries. “Oh— My apologies… But this is no place for talk such as this. I spend enough time worrying about you and Aymeric when I’m not in Ishgard, I have no need to worry for you in the little time I have here.”

Concern creases his brow as he steers them past the other dancers. “When do you depart?”

A sigh. “Far sooner than I’d like, and for Doma of all places.”

“Doma? Truly?”

She frowns. “I prefer not to think of it. I am here now, and the rest can wait until we’ve had our fill of one another.”

“Well if _that_ were the case, you and I would remain in Ishgard forever, and Garlemald would raze this country to the ground and every other besides.” His tone is dry but a smirk plays at the edge of his eyes.

She matches his with her own. “If only.”

The music fades and they slow to a halt, pulling apart from one another with slight reluctance. As Aymeric had done, he holds her hand and bows deep before her, pressing chaste lips against her knuckles.

“We shall await you in House Borel, once you grow tired enough of this place to dole out your goodbyes. Though…” His voice drops, barely audible above the din of another song beginning. “Feel free to keep us waiting as long as you’d like. You know how he enjoys the anticipation.”

He does not wait for a response before taking his leave, making a beeline for the Lord Commander idling near the exit. The Warrior of Light watches him leave, eyes catching on the ribbon still tied around his wrist, a promise made and kept. Though her gaze is quick to flit towards _other_ parts of his rear, exceptional as it is out of its usual obfuscating armor.

It will be a long, long night.

She begins making her way through the room, bidding farewell to those who would take offense to such a lack of decorum if she had left without. Lord Edmont catches her in conversation for nearly ten minutes before she begs his leave with a half-fake yawn. It’s true enough that she tires of this place and its company, now that it lacks the two for whom she wished to attend in the first place, but the anticipation has her quite the opposite of exhausted.

What could they possibly have planned for her? So much time has passed since last they were able to indulge in each other fully, so many lonely nights wondering when she would be able to share warmth and mortal pleasures with her dearest loves. With fantasy as her only company more often than not, it had been too easy to imagine what they might have in store for their next time together, but now in the face of its inevitability, her head buzzes with endless possibilities, each more debauched and enticing than the last.

She hurries her pace.

* * *

Nearly an hour after her companions had taken their leave of the banquet, the Warrior of Light finally finds herself at the door of the de Borel Manor. Snowflakes cling to her clothes and hair and eyelashes, a pervasive chill sinking deep, but uncouth thoughts and tantalizing suspense keep her warm from the inside out. Her cheeks are pink but not from the weather — though it makes for a convenient excuse.

She lets herself in and sheds her cloak and wet boots by the door, then makes her way towards Aymeric’s private chambers. It’s not a long walk — the de Borel Manse isn’t vast in the same fashion as the other lords — but each step has a knot pulling tighter and tighter in her gut.

The door is closed when she finds it. She waits outside, debating for a moment whether to knock, listening quietly for any noises on the other side. A low murmur floats just beyond the wooden door, unintelligible but enticing nonetheless. A gasp of breath through clenched teeth, exhaled in a low whine. She finds herself blushing bright red at the realization of their role reversal: two enjoying one another while another listens, wanting, _yearning_ to join. Only this time, the two anxiously await the third. Without further ado, she pushes the door gently open.

The sight that greets her shouldn’t come as a surprise, but it does. 

Aymeric lay flat on his back, arms fastened to his bed posts with what seem to be ribbons. Chest bare, flushed red, she can barely make out faint teeth marks and red patches that had been sucked into his skin by Estinien, who looms above him. Aymeric’s trousers are open at the waistband and Estinien is teasing him with slow, languid strokes that have his stomach muscles flexing taut. Estinien is similar levels of undress, waistband hanging open around his hips but with his cock covered. He seems quite content to maintain his slow, teasing pace.

Belatedly, her eyes catch on the dark blue ribbons she had tied around their wrists, miraculously having made their way up to encircle their necks instead. They bring a soft smile to her face, blooming with fondness for these two men she calls her own with pride.

She had been right about that particular placement being a bit much at the banquet. But _here,_ however, it is sublime.

They shift their gazes to the Warrior of Light as she enters, Aymeric with far more desperation than Estinien, though his is not without its own want. Estinien’s expression melts into a smirk.

“Ah, kind of you to join us. I almost thought you wouldn’t show.” Estinien removes his hand and Aymeric whimpers, hips squirming to chase any sensation.

“And miss this? Never, my dear,” she retorts, shutting the door and entering the room proper. “Though you seem to have seen fit to begin without me.”

He stands and turns towards her, muscular shoulders and torso on full display. She drinks the sight deep, unshameful, wanting. Her hands yearn to touch so she lets them, trailing her fingertips up and up as he closes the distance.

Estinien wastes no time in pulling her close for a kiss, making up for time lost during the banquet. His lips claim hers with a hunger she couldn’t have anticipated, one that consumes her, nearly renders her incapable of reciprocating. But she tries her best regardless, indulging his lips and tongue as they take what by all rights belongs to them. Her arms wrap around his neck and pull him impossibly closer, pressing her own clothed torso against his bare one. He deepens their kiss with a hand at the back of her neck and a quiet, aching groan.

Aymeric, on the other hand, tests his weight against the ribbons holding him prone, eager to partake but frustrated at both his inability to do so and the all-too casual manner with which his pleasure had been abandoned. His skin burns with the desire to feel, to touch as Estinien does, to _be_ touched. His body surges with need for them but they remain tangled in one another, heedless, desperate.

She pulls back from his lips with a gasp, remaining pressed close to his chest. The hand at the back of her head smooths down her hair, fingers catching on the ribbon tied delicately to the end of her braid.

“I have waited so long,” he says, voice rolling like thunder, “each day more difficult than the last without you with us… _nnn_ …”

She presses herself against the firm length trapped within his trousers, eliciting a moan that rumbles through his chest.

“You say that as if you were not absent as well,” she retorts. Estinien looks away, sheepish, and she smooths a hand through his hair. “Of the three of us, none is more fit to scold our departure than Ser Aymeric…”

They look to him and he’s watching them with molten blue eyes, dark curls stuck to his forehead with sweat despite Ishgard’s customary chill. She spots the vial of oil opened on the dresser, incriminating evidence that someone wanted to come into this prepared. Estinien chuckles softly and bends to lavish her neck with kisses, but she keeps her gaze pinned on Aymeric as he writhes.

“I apologize, my lord, it — _ah_ — it seems a _monster_ has latched itself to me,” she says, breathy as he sucks a bruise into her neck. Fumbling hands unlatch her cloak and start divesting her of bits of clothing, until even her smallclothes litter the floor. _“Ohh_ , Fury, that’s…” Estinien sinks his teeth into the junction of her neck, grinding his hips against her form, indulging in what he could not before.

“Please…” Aymeric whines, low, watching Estinien’s tongue lave over the bite. “My…I yearn for you two, like never before… It has been so long…”

The Warrior of Light relents, gently pushing from Estinien’s attentions to instead attend Aymeric. His muscles flex as he surges closer to her, desperate for contact. She happily obliges him with gentle fingers brushing through his hair, a texture in which she revels. He presses into the touch, even as Estinien approaches her from behind and pulls her flush with his chest.

“He looks incredible like this, doesn’t he? Fortunate that we found more of this ribbon to create such a display for you,” his voice rolls against her, a low wave.

“A most divine homecoming,” she responds, smoothing her fingers across the ribbon around Aymeric’s neck. The skin trembles beneath her fingers, shifting as he swallows thickly. The digit slips beneath the silky band and pulls, ever slightly, watching his fair skin shift against the material as it pulls tighter.

“And it is with eager hearts and arms that we welcome you back… Each and every time, my dearest,” Aymeric says, soft with fondness. Her fingertip abandons the ribbon to instead press against his lips, before they open and let it slide past. He sucks on it, keeping half-lidded eyes pinned to her as he shows his eagerness through deed instead of word.

Estinien reaches around and teases his fingers between her folds, chuckling at the wetness he finds already building despite not having been touched for so long. She sighs, melting back into the line of his chiseled torso, feeling the warmth of him envelop her body.

“Mmm… It seems the anticipation appeals to you, as well. Not that we would ever doubt your _want_ , but it’s…reassuring to know you think of us as much as we think of you,” Estinien murmurs. Aymeric’s tongue swirls against her finger and she bites her lip, eager for such attention to be placed… _elsewhere._

“Well? Go on, then,” Estinien urges, reading her mind. “He is yours for the taking.”

She needs no further coaxing. The bed dips with her weight as she climbs into it and on top of Aymeric, looming above him and watching as he squirms. In one swift motion, she surges forward to catch him in a kiss.

 _“Mm!”_ Aymeric moans, needy, lifting his head as much as he can to press forward into her, to taste as much of her as he can. Eager lips open to receive her tongue, eager to indulge in what she had gone so long without.

Estinien crawls into the bed with them, watching with rapt attention as the two of them sate their mutual hunger. Aymeric lets out a low whine as Estinien resumes his position from before she arrived, a hand wrapped loosely around his cock, stroking without much thought or purpose other than keeping him hard and wanting. He strains against the ribbons holding his arms in place, hips surging up into his touch with desperate abandon.

 _“Please,”_ he pants once they part for air, “I-I need… Need you, need _more_ … _”_

“Oh, but I do so love hearing you beg…” she comments, remaining just out of reach as he strains up for more. She graces him with a single chaste kiss, smirking. “I suppose your silver tongue is talented in other ways than charismatic speeches and wooing nobility. It’s long past time I put it to the test.”

With one last lingering press to his lips, she moves away and turns to face Estinien. Slowly, carefully, she lifts her hips and eases backwards until she feels lips press greedily against her core.

 _“Oh!_ _Hah…_ Aymeric…” She grinds her hips back into his face, a slow roll as he presses an insistent tongue against her. The desperate noises leaking from his lungs vibrate through her, a feeling that has her leaning forward and bracing her hands against his torso. His ribcage rises and falls with heavy breaths while he laves against her sex like a man starved.

When she gains wits enough to look up, she sees Estinien shedding his trousers and climbing back onto the bed to straddle Aymeric’s hips. He surges forward into a bruising kiss the moment he’s close enough to do so, pulling her into it with strong hands at her jaw.

She rolls her hips back into the tongue circling her clit, an instinctive response to the heat stoking itself slowly in her gut. One of the hands at her jaw disappears behind Estinien, and whatever it does wrings a moan from Aymeric, sets him squirming in place beneath his two lovers. Hips twitch and hands pull tight against their bonds as Estinien’s hips press backwards, no doubt taking Aymeric’s length to the hilt in one smooth motion.

They move together in a disjointed sort of rhythm, taking as they please from one another, sharing breaths and energy and passion. The angle and the friction render Aymeric less dextrous with his tongue but she revels in the desperation it elicits instead, fervent movements against her that have her moaning and sighing into Estinien’s mouth. One of her hands finds Estinien’s cock and starts stroking, an afterthought, but one that has Estinien speeding his movements. He presses forward and back, forward and back, chasing sensation from both directions with greedy abandon.

 _“Fury_ … _”_ Estinien breathes as they part. His ears and cheeks and chest burn a deep red with the exertion, his lips swollen and dewy.

 _“Nnn…”_ The Warrior of Light moans past a bitten bottom lip, pressing further back into Aymeric’s face as he circles his tongue around her clit. The mounting pleasure is torturous, all-encompassing, raw. It wraps around the three of them like a second skin, sating their longing for one another through base carnal desire.

Aymeric is the first to crest into an orgasm, one that has his hips snapping up into Estinien and knocking him out of their careful rhythm. The thrust is well-placed, though; with that, Estinien keens his own release, spilling over the Warrior of Light’s fingers and Aymeric’s torso as his hips stutter.

Aymeric lets out a low groan, bass reverberating through her body from within. He can’t keep up his frantic pace as the aftershocks roll through him but she doesn’t mind, especially not as one of Estinien’s hands gropes a breast, thumb flicking over the nipple.

Estinien shifts and lifts himself off Aymeric’s length, and Aymeric relaxes by ilms without the heat overstimulating him. With two firm tugs at the ribbons Estinien frees Aymeric’s arms, and they are quick to grip her hips and pull her backwards so he can resume.

In the afterglow he’s _ruthless,_ finally able to chase her release as feverishly as he had sought his own. With newfound agency in his limbs, it takes mere moments for him to bring her back to the edge over which she had teetered. He does not pause and he does not tease — the same steady, quick pressure lavishes her until she keens.

 _“Ah!_ Aymeric, _please—”_ The moans pitch higher and her head hangs between her shoulders, pressing back into his mouth as she comes. It’s an explosive finish, one that sparks beneath her flesh like firecrackers. Estinien loses whatever grip he had on his self-control and pulls her forward into a searing kiss, one she returns with what little wits remain to her.

She twitches with aftershocks as he continues; despite her attempts to free Aymeric, he keeps his grip firm on her hips, pressing forward to properly relish the taste and feel of her. She bats at his hands and whines, and after a few more moments of lavishing attention he reluctantly relents, letting her ease off him so he can sit upright and stretch.

“My, you certainly haven’t forgotten how to do that in my absence,” she says, rubbing any soreness out of Aymeric’s shoulders and arms and wrists. He leans into the touch, eyes shut, appreciating her deft fingers as she massages into his skin.

“Pray forgive my enthusiasm… I had gone far too long without.”

Estinien cleans them and discards the evidence before settling next to the Warrior of Light. He brushes the hair from her shoulders and kisses the red marks left behind from his earlier hunger, marks which simmer and sting with the memory.

Eventually Aymeric turns and pulls her down with him into the pillows, arms wrapped around her shoulders to hold her close. A gentle hand smooths down her hair as Aymeric’s chin finds a home resting at the top of her head, cradling her close. She revels in the pace of his heart, thumping low against her ear where it’s pressed against his chest. Estinien smooths calloused palms up and down her shoulder and back, a tactile sensation that lulls her into a bone-deep comfort.

“Would that we could stay here forever,” she says, voice half-muffled where her cheek presses into Aymeric’s chest. She pulls back to look up at him, at his eyes as they shine. “I do not know how I will function being so far from you both.”

Aymeric’s mouth twists into a frown, half-pouting. It tugs at her heartstrings like nothing else. “To what lands do your adventures take you next?”

“Doma.” She tries to ignore the quiet exhale at her answer. “With their help accompanying the Alliance, we may yet have a chance to turn the tide in Ala Mhigo.” Her voice quiets to a murmur, words pressed into Aymeric’s skin as if he could somehow take them far away from her. “I leave on the morrow. I do not know when I will be able to return.”

“But you will return.” Estinien’s voice is soft but allows for no argument — so sure of itself, of _her._

“And when you do, we shall be here.” The Warrior of Light presses her face into Aymeric’s chest and he tightens his hug. Estinien lays next to them and embraces her from behind, enveloping her in all the warmth and love they have to give. The longer they can keep the world away from their dearest Warrior, the better.

“I love you both. I never want you to forget that. No matter where this title takes me, no matter what heroic feat I am to accomplish next…” In one hand she takes Aymeric’s, and the other takes Estinien’s. She brings each hand up to press a kiss against the knuckles, repaying them their courtesy from earlier in the night. “No matter how large my heart swells, nor the number of people who crowd within, it will long for a home with yours.”

“Then know that we love you as well, wholly and incessantly,” Aymeric says. Estinien hums low in agreement, huddling closer and burying his face in her hair. Their skin sticks against the movement, sweaty and tacky.

She grimaces, then, shifting against Estinien’s body where it’s pressed against her back. “And I will love you no matter how sticky you get, it seems. Though I reserve the right to demand a bath.”

Estinien grimaces and huffs an affronted sigh.

Aymeric lets out a light laugh and presses closer to Estinien for a sweet kiss, taking for taking’s sake, taking because he can and refuses to take that for granted. “She’s right. And we do owe her a bath…together, this time,” he muses.

“I suppose… And we’d best made do with the time we have.”

“One of you will have to carry me,” she deadpans. “My legs have ceased their function. Woe is me. Whatever will I do. Enveloped on all sides by two strong, handsome men. My problems mount ever higher!” She leans back against Estinien and drapes an arm over her forehead for dramatic effect. “How will I carry on thus!”

“Between us, of course,” Aymeric says. Estinien slides off the mattress and lifts her in a bridal carry from Aymeric’s embrace as he stands to join them. She wraps her arms around Estinien’s neck and presses a kiss to his jawline, reveling in the love and light they have brought to her life.

“Right where I belong.”

**Author's Note:**

> nanamo would absolutely sit on estinien's shoulder while he does cool jumps and tricks. change my mind
> 
> follow me, set me free, trust me and we will escape from the city (on twitter) [@shoutzwastaken](http://twitter.com/shoutzwastaken)
> 
> i also humbly and warmly invite you to come hang with [the book club](https://discord.gg/X6NJJAb)


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